


Thirty

by Nyssa



Category: Monty Python RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael enjoys his big three-oh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty

**Author's Note:**

> I got a big smile out of Michael's description in the _Diaries_ of the thirtieth birthday party given him by the other Pythons. I've tweaked his account _just_ a little for the noble cause of fanporn, though the cast of characters is the same.
> 
> This fic's sequel is "Promise."

_Birmingham, England  
May 5-6, 1973_

 

Being thirty wasn't bad at all. Michael hadn't been looking forward to it, but he was rapidly revising his opinion. In fact, he couldn't remember when he'd had a better time.

He'd spent the last hour or so sitting on the floor of his hotel room with Eric, Terry, Neil, and Carol, reading poetry (yes, poetry -- Terry Jones was the only person he knew who carried the _Oxford Book of Twentieth Century Verse_ in his traveling case, right along with toothpaste and extra socks), eating cake, drinking wine, and laughing till his ribs ached. Carol was on his left, an arm round his waist, kissing him on the cheek at regular intervals and feeding him bits of cake with her fingers as if they'd just got married. Terry sat on his right, bestowing affectionate smiles on him, supporting him as he grew unsteady, drawing Mike's head down to rest on his shoulder when Mike began to find it difficult to remain upright. Eric and Neil sat across from him, guitars in hand, alternating Kipling and Yeats with Beatles songs and deep, deep drags on what Eric proudly proclaimed "the best weed outside of Jamaica."

Michael was inclined to agree with him. Despite frequent urging from all and sundry, he hadn't taken a single toke all evening, believing that he was quite intoxicated enough from the wine he'd already put away. Besides, smoking didn't do one's throat any good, and he was concerned (even though no one else seemed to be) about all their voices holding out until the end of the tour. But it had quickly become apparent that it didn't matter whether he actually put a joint to his lips or not. The room swam, danced, and wobbled with smoke. Sweet, fragrant haze worked its way into every corner. If you were breathing in that room, you were stoned.

Eric was halfway through a dramatic reading of "Sailing to Byzantium" with appropriate moody accompaniment from Neil's guitar when Michael announced that he was going to bed before he collapsed. He stood, with help from Terry, removed his shirt, and was rewarded with a chorus of whistles, howls of appreciation, and demands for a "show." He met Eric's laughing eyes briefly, saw the playful lust in them, and turned away hurriedly, laughing so hard himself he could barely make his way to the loo to undress. He wouldn't have minded stripping off completely in front of only the lads, but Carol's presence inhibited things just a bit.

When he emerged -- face washed, teeth brushed, clad only in a fresh pair of Y-fronts -- he noticed that Terry, Eric, and Neil had their heads together, whispering. Carol was sitting a bit apart from them, and cleared her throat loudly when she noticed Michael's return. The three men quieted immediately and separated. Mike felt a muted flutter of suspicion -- oh God, what were they up to now? -- that quickly evaporated as Carol came to him and wrapped him in a warm hug. She felt disturbingly wonderful against his naked skin, and he could feel his face flush.

"Happy birthday, dear Michael," she said, and kissed him full on the lips. "I can't stay, but you'll have a lovely time anyway." She laughed, and before he could collect himself to ask what she meant, she was gone.

"We should have got her to jump out of the cake naked," Neil said as the door closed behind Carol. "The highlight of the evening, that would have been."

"Not necessarily," Eric said, and he and Neil glanced at each other before falling about with laughter.

Michael blinked. He had no idea what they were on about, but then Eric and Neil had a habit of breaking each other up with obscure private jokes. It sometimes made him feel faintly jealous, for no good reason, he told himself. He glanced at Terry, hoping for an explanation, but Terry simply smiled at him. It was an odd smile, it seemed to Mike, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why he thought so.

But he felt far too good to worry about it. He laughed and lay down on the bed. God, it was so soft. "Don't mind me," he sighed. "You lot stay as long as you like. I'll just float blissfully."

He closed his eyes and listened to Neil's guitar. He was just becoming fascinated by the sound (it was almost _visual_ , he could almost _see_ it), when he felt the mattress dip beside him. He turned his head slowly to the left, opened his eyes, and was nose to nose with Eric.

Eric smiled a languid smile. "Hi," he said.

Michael smiled back. "Hi."

Eric blinked slowly. "Having fun?"

Michael stared at Eric's eyes. They were huge. They were colourful. Black pupils surrounded by swirling blue irises (why were those things called irises, anyway? Like flowers...) surrounded by startling red. No white at all. Lovely, lovely colours...

" 'ere," Eric said, waving a hand before Mike's face. "I asked you a question."

Michael closed his eyes briefly and opened them again. "Sorry. What?"

Eric spoke slowly and precisely. "Are...you...having...fun? Simple yes or no question."

Mike considered for a moment. "Yes," he answered finally.

Eric smiled again and brought his lips close to Michael's ear. "Me too," he whispered, and they both broke into giggles.

"Perfect," Michael murmured when he could speak again. He raised a hand, gesturing vaguely around the room. "Everything's -- perfect."

"Not perfect," Eric said.

Mike looked wonderingly at him.

"I mean," Eric said, "not perfect _yet_." He kissed Michael's cheek gently. "Could be, though," he whispered. "If you like." His lips traveled to Michael's, and brushed them ever so lightly.

Normally, Mike wouldn't have even considered it. Not in front of anyone, for God's sake, and especially not in front of Terry. That would be downright cruel. But in his present state of mind, the best he could summon up was mild uncertainty. He waited, so that Eric could kiss him again. Then he murmured against Eric's mouth, "You're mad." He touched his tongue to Eric's lower lip. "We're not alone, they'll see us -- "

Eric laughed softly. "They'll do more than that, mate."

Michael blinked. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Come on, love, it's your birthday." He slid a leg carefully between Michael's. Mike couldn't stifle a moan as Eric's warm thigh brushed gently against his crotch. They were separated by his shorts and Eric's jeans, and for a long moment he could think of nothing but how it would feel if they weren't.

Eric slipped both arms around him and pulled him delightfully close. "All comfy?" he asked with a grin.

Michael smiled and nodded. He was wonderfully comfortable. Eric was right, he decided. It was his birthday, dammit. He'd do what he liked. And he liked Eric.

Eric kissed him. He kissed back, closing his eyes and letting his tongue wander. He hadn't kissed Eric all that often, really. He hadn't kissed him at all until the last year or so, and even since then it had been intermittent, something they did sometimes, grinningly, jokingly, when no one was looking. He liked it. It was good fun, and it usually didn't lead to anything too heavy. Well, most of the time it didn't. Even when it did, it was no big deal. They both knew that.

"Oh, that's nice," Eric whispered, as Michael's mouth slowly withdrew from his with a gentle parting suck at his lower lip. "That's so nice, pet."

Mike smiled. He wouldn't have liked being called "pet" by anyone else, but somehow Eric always made it seem more sweet than condescending. " 'Course it's nice. You're so high -- " he began to laugh helplessly " -- you're so high a root canal would be nice."

Eric grinned slowly. "Don't know. Never had a root canal."

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and made an effort to control his hilarity.

"I think," Eric said, "a bit more snogging is in order. Don't you?" He tilted Michael's chin up and brought their lips together.

Mike's laughter smoothed out into a soft, pleased moan. He raised his hand to the back of Eric's head and pressed him closer, his fingers burrowing contentedly into the thick blond hair.

He got lost in the kiss, aware of nothing but Eric's mouth, Eric's hands moving slowly over his back, Eric's leg still trapped between his (perfectly placed to rub against, as he was doing with increasing pleasure). He squeezed both hands between their bodies and went to work undoing Eric's shirt buttons. Eric liked having his nipples licked.

Eric caught Mike's hands in his, stilling their movements. "Naughty," he whispered, and waggled a finger in front of Michael's nose. "None of that. Makes me a bit crazy, you know."

Michael grinned. "I know," he said, and reached again for Eric's shirt. "That's why I want to do it."

"No, no, no," Eric said, pushing Mike's hands away. "This is a _gift_. For your _birthday_." He emphasized the words carefully. "Understand? It's a token of my boundless admiration for your...your..." He trailed off, blinked, then continued, "Can't remember what I was going to say, but you get the point."

Michael regarded him with a kind of awe. He had rarely seen anyone, including Eric himself, so thoroughly stoned. It was strangely beautiful.

The word danced in his brain, demanding escape. "Beautiful," he whispered.

Eric smiled, as though he understood Mike's meaning perfectly. "So relax." His voice dropped silkily. "You don't have to do anything, all right? We'll do it all."

Michael frowned slightly. _We?_ But then they were kissing again and thinking took too much effort, so he abandoned it. Eric pushed him gently onto his back and trailed a line of kisses down his throat to his chest, where he teased gently at each nipple in turn. Michael's nipples weren't generally very sensitive -- not like Eric's, anyway -- but this time... Must be the grass, he thought fuzzily. It felt simply exquisite. He squeezed his eyes shut and took Eric's head in his hands, holding it still, not wanting to lose that lovely sensation.

"Did you know," said a voice to his right, "that some women can come just from being suckled like that?"

Michael opened his eyes slowly and turned his head. Terry was kneeling next to the bed. His eyes were enormous, black and glittering and staring directly into Michael's.

"Yes," Mike said in a whisper. He hesitated only a second before adding, "Helen can, sometimes."

Terry smiled. "Lucky Helen," he said softly, and leaned forward and up to press his lips to the nipple nearest him, Eric being currently occupied with the other.

Mike drew in his breath sharply.

Terry raised his head. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked, with concern. "I mean..." He let the words hang in the air.

Eyes closed, Michael turned his head back and forth on the pillow. He and Terry hadn't done anything like this in years, not since Oxford, in fact, but -- well, it was his birthday.

He heard Terry sigh, and then two tongues were licking at him, two warm mouths kissing him, and he was panting with enjoyment when Eric suddenly raised his head. As if from a distance, Michael heard him speak. "Neil," he said. "Watch."

Michael dragged his eyes open with difficulty. Neil was standing in the middle of the room, eyes riveted on the scene, lips slightly parted. "I _am_ watching," he said. His voice was strained.

Eric shook his head, a long strand of his hair tickling Mike's chest maddeningly as he did so. "Not close enough." He made an impatient gesture. "Over here. Come on, stop messing about."

Michael started, surprised at the peremptory note in Eric's voice. But Neil moved dutifully closer to the bed until he was standing at the foot, looking down on Mike's body but not meeting his eyes.

"Now watch us," Eric whispered, and lowered his head again, rejoining Terry, who'd never even looked up. Terry's soft tongue had made its way to Michael's belly, which it lavished with long, slow strokes. Eric caught up fast, kissing and sucking gently. Michael raised himself slightly for a better view of the light and dark heads bending over him. As he watched, their foreheads bumped together, resulting in an annoyed growl of "Stay on your own side!" from Terry, and a slight shrug of the shoulders from Eric. Michael would have found this amusing, had he not been so firmly in the grip of pleasure and shivery anticipation of greater pleasure that all other emotions were shunted aside.

He was just on the verge of begging, pleading with them for more, when Neil spoke. "Eric," he said, his voice soft, "I don't think I can do it."

Eric raised his head. Michael whimpered with frustration. Terry looked up at him quickly, whispered "Hush, love, I'm here," and gave him a consoling kiss on the lips before returning to his task.

"Yes, you can," Eric said. "Touch him. He's perfect to practice on."

Michael blinked again. _Practice?_ He turned his head and stared at Eric.

"If he doesn't want to do it, he doesn't have to," Terry said. He smiled at Michael, stroking his stomach gently. "We can do this ourselves."

Eric rolled his eyes. "He _does_ want to do it. He's just paranoid. Have another drink, Neil."

Neil looked steadily at Eric. Michael saw him swallow. "No, I -- I'll do it." He put a tentative hand on Michael's thigh.

Michael sighed. "Please, _somebody_ do it."

Neil ran his hand gently up Michael's leg to his crotch, where he slipped inside Mike's Y-fronts and cupped the intrigued genitals. Michael gasped.

Eric smiled. "That's it! See? Not difficult at all, is it?"

Neil's face flushed slightly at the praise. He smiled at Eric, and squeezed lightly.

Michael squirmed on the mattress. "Yeah," he breathed, pressing upward to meet Neil halfway.

"Stop it," Terry said suddenly. His voice was raw, his breath coming hard. He turned to Eric. "You said we'd all get a turn."

Eric blinked at him. "We will."

" _When_ , I'd like to know? He's not going to last all night, and I want -- I want -- " He trailed off.

"Tel -- " Mike struggled to collect his senses enough to speak coherently. "Tel -- God, that feels good. Neil, don't -- don't stop. Tel -- "

Eric smiled and kissed Michael's sweaty forehead. "It's all right, everything's all right. Just relax, pet."

"Don't call him that," Terry snapped.

Eric looked at him, his eyebrows lifting. "Why not?"

Terry didn't reply.

"All right, stop," Eric said to Neil. Neil did, withdrawing his hand from Michael. Michael writhed with disappointment.

"We should have coordinated this better," Eric sighed.

Terry snorted. "If you weren't so fucking wrecked, perhaps we could have."

"We're _all_ fucking wrecked," Neil said, and surrendered to a fit of giggles in which Eric, but not Terry, quickly joined him.

"Blindfold me," Michael said suddenly. _Someone_ had to get things moving here.

Everyone turned to look at him. Terry's angry expression faded. Neil and Eric quieted.

"If you're going to take turns, I don't want to know which of you is which. It'll be a sort of -- birthday surprise." He smiled. God, he'd never felt better in his _life_.

Terry looked uncertain. "You really want -- "

Eric cut him off. "Yes, he really wants it." He grinned at Michael. "Like your hands tied, too?"

Michael closed his eyes briefly. He hadn't thought about that, but -- _hands tied, eyes covered, helpless, no way to know which of them would kiss him next, which of them would touch him where, which of them would_...

"Yeah," he whispered, and then louder, "Yes."

"Mike." Terry spoke softly. "I don't know if -- "

"Will you leave him be?" Eric broke in impatiently. "It's _his_ birthday, innit? Neil, have you got a clean handkerchief?"

Michael shut his eyes and lay still, breathing hard, listening whilst Eric and Neil rummaged about the room. Terry hadn't moved. Mike could feel him next to him, saying nothing but holding his hand, stroking the inside of his wrist gently with his thumb.

"Right," Eric said. "Sit up, love."

Mike raised himself, keeping his eyes closed. Something soft and cool slid over them. Neil's handkerchief, he guessed. It was folded, too thick for him to see through at all. He felt Eric's hands briskly knotting it at the back of his head.

"Too tight?"

"No," he said. "It's fine."

He heard Eric laugh softly, and then felt lips -- Eric's, he assumed -- brush the top of his head. "You're such a sport, Mike," Eric said. There was genuine admiration in his voice. "Never met a better sport in my life."

"Can we get on with it, please?" Terry's voice. It was strained, edgy. Michael turned towards it unconsciously.

"Here then," Eric said. "You do this."

The mattress shifted behind him, and then his hands were being pulled carefully together behind his back. "It's me, Mike," Terry said. Something wrapped around his wrists -- cords, ropes of some sort. He felt a surge of excitement, which flagged when Terry got up.

"Er, Tel -- " He flapped his hands about awkwardly. "I can slip right out of these."

"Oh, for God's sake," came Eric's voice. "If you can't even tie a proper knot -- "

"All right, dammit!" Terry shouted, and he was at Michael's back again, pulling the cords tighter, snugging the knots firmly. When he was done, he rested a hand briefly between Mike's shoulder blades. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"He knows we won't hurt him." Michael jumped. Eric's mouth was almost touching his ear. "Quite the opposite." He shivered as Eric kissed the ear gently.

 _But you could_ , he thought. _You could hurt me. You could do anything to me, the three of you. I couldn't stop you, not like this_. His mouth went dry. His heart was racing so violently he could hardly breathe, but he felt exhilarated. Free.

"You don't want a gag, do you?" Eric asked.

Mike shook his head sharply. "No. I want -- " It was hard to think, hard to make decisions. He could ask for anything, he knew that. They wouldn't turn him down. The very freedom of choice was intimidating.

"One of you kiss me," he said. "And I'll guess which one it is."

He heard a soft intake of breath, and his skin prickled as someone leaned close. He parted his lips unconsciously. A smoky mouth brushed his gently; a soft, familiar tongue teased lightly and was gone.

"Eric," he said, smiling.

"Oh, bloody difficult, that was," he heard Terry mutter. "Not like you haven't been snogging him half the night."

"Don't talk," Michael said. "Don't any of you say anything. Just -- just take turns touching me. Touch me any way you like." He swallowed. "I'll guess who it is."

There was a momentary silence. Then Neil's voice said, "What if you're wrong?"

"Then," Michael said, "you can punish me."

"God," Terry whispered.

"Don't talk," Michael said again. It was difficult to get the words out. His throat muscles were clenching up.

He heard a swish of sheets, and felt the mattress shift. He could hear the three of them moving away from the bed, and an unintelligible murmur of voices. They were planning, he realised. Planning what they would do to him. He felt his balls tighten pleasantly.

He heard them return, the rustle of their clothes. Then their hands were on him, guiding him, tugging him to the edge of the bed. Someone hooked fingers into the waistband of his underpants and in a moment he was naked. They pulled at him, urging him to his feet. He stood, trembling with excitement, wondering if his knees would give way when they started to...

He drew in his breath sharply. Someone's hands had found his arse. They slid gently over the taut muscles, warm, soothing, but very, very arousing. A finger trailed slowly from the base of his spine down the line between his cheeks.

"Terry," he whispered, though he had no idea if he was right. He didn't even care.

"Yes," said Terry's shaky voice from behind him. The hands left him, reluctantly, he thought.

He held his breath. Nothing happened. He could hear his heart beating. He fancied he could even hear _theirs_. He listened hard, and was almost certain...

He flinched as someone took his face in their hands, lightly, carefully. Lips touched his so tentatively he barely felt them.

Neil, he thought. Neil wasn't used to this. He smiled to himself, opened his mouth and lunged forward suddenly, reaching out with his tongue, almost snapping at the shy mouth that teased him.

He heard a startled squawk as Neil (for he was sure it was Neil) backed away hastily. A burst of giggles erupted from somewhere to his right.

"I forgot to tell you," said Eric's voice, heavy with laughter. "He bites back."

He heard a voice he knew was Terry's say "Shhh!"

"Sorry," Eric said in a strangled whisper.

Michael said, "That was Neil, obviously. Try to do a bit better, can't you? I mean, there's no challenge at all to this."

He stood silently, listening with a satisfied smile whilst they conferred in murmurs. It may not have been a challenge, but it was bloody good fun.

Someone approached him, bare feet whispering on the carpet. He was sure it was Eric. After all, it was Eric's turn. He relaxed, confident, and was about to make a teasing remark about his friends' lack of imagination when a strong hand enveloped his half-hard cock and stroked it firmly, once.

He gasped, swaying forward in delight. "Eric," he breathed.

There was an infinitesimal pause, and then a stinging slap landed on his naked buttocks.

"Ah!" he shouted, stunned by the unexpected pain. His cock pulsed wildly inside its warm sheath.

"Me again," said Neil's breathless voice.

Michael panted. "You've, erm, you've got your courage up, I see."

He could hear the smile in Neil's voice. "Eric's very persuasive," he said. "Talked me into it, he did."

Mike felt an unidentifiable twinge. How had Eric done that?

"Made you a promise, did he?" He hoped it wasn't jealousy he heard in his voice.

Neil laughed softly, then released him and stepped away. Michael stood trembling, breathing hard. He wasn't bored now.

Someone kissed him. It was different from Neil's kiss. The lips were sweet, soft, but not shy. They caressed his own lips, made slow love to them, then pushed them gently apart and tasted him. Mike moaned and leaned into it, tangling their tongues together. Terry, he knew it. He remembered. Through the excitement he felt a wave of tenderness. Nostalgia.

The loveliness ended too soon, the mouth withdrawing from him slowly. He heard Terry sigh.

He ran his tongue over his tingling lips and said purposefully, "Eric."

He gasped as a single sharp blow found his arse.

"Oh," he said, fighting the urge to squirm shamelessly with pleasure. "I, er, I suppose I was wrong."

"Me," Terry said softly. "You know it was." Michael felt a hand cup the side of his face, the fingertips caressing his cheekbone with infinite gentleness.

"Tel," Mike whispered, "you're holding up the game."

The hand fell away from his face, and he was alone again.

More whispered conversation, and a rustle of fabric, the scratch of a zipper. Someone was undressing, he realised with approval. Then footsteps approached, and fingers brushed gently through his hair.

"Neil?" he guessed.

No one said anything. Lips found his, a tongue pushing hard into his mouth. He sighed. He loved kissing, but he was getting impatient for...

Before he could finish the thought, somebody's warm, wet mouth engulfed his cock, pulling him all the way in with one motion.

He gasped with shock, his head going back reflexively, but whoever was kissing him grabbed it and held him steady, not letting his mouth escape. He groaned helplessly, caught in agonised delight between his mouth and his erection. He tried to thrust forward with his hips, but as he did so they both suddenly withdrew and the glorious heat was gone.

"Oh, God," he whispered. The desire to free his hands and touch himself was almost overpowering. "Oh, _God_." He tried to steady his spinning mind. "I -- I don't know who. I don't know. But it felt so -- "

"You have to guess," Eric's voice said softly. "Your rules, love."

He drew a long, shuddering breath. "You above. And Terry was -- Terry below."

"Good guess," Eric said in a whisper, and kissed his cheek.

"Mike." Terry's voice shook. "Mike, I -- "

"Let's get on with it," came Neil's voice.

Michael felt someone's fingers touch the top of his head, gently pushing downward.

He sank down, awkwardly at first, and then was steadied the rest of the way by one of them on each side of him until he was on his knees, the carpet tickling his legs.

"What -- " he began, and stopped. Someone was kneeling behind him, between his legs. He heard them first, and then felt them. A soft whisper of breath on the back of his neck, two warm hands massaging his shoulders, holding him steady. Then something warm and smooth touched his lips. He smiled, and his mouth opened without hesitation.

He had done this for Eric a few times, and for Terry in the old days. Not as many times as he'd have liked, really, because it was lovely. The soft, velvety skin covering the steely hardness, the weight on his tongue, the gasps and moans and gentle tugs on his hair. The power of it, the delight of giving.

It wasn't Eric this time, he was sure, and he didn't think it was Terry either. The taste was different, the smell, the tone of the sighs of pleasure above him. Probably Neil, but it didn't matter. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and sucked contentedly.

He was so absorbed it took him a moment to register that whoever was behind him had begun kissing his neck, lapping hungrily at his shoulders, running caressing hands over his chest. He moaned softly around the eager flesh in his mouth as one of those hands slipped downward, closed over his cock, and began stroking, and -- oh, Jesus. This time it was firm and hard and fast, and God, they were going to let him come this time, he knew it, and he couldn't keep going with his mouth, couldn't focus on anything but his own cock, and Neil slipped away from him, leaving him free to gasp with pleasure and shove forward into that lovely strong hand until...

He was released suddenly, the hand falling away, the lips leaving his neck, the heat dissipating from behind him as whoever it was moved away and stood.

He groaned aloud. "God, don't stop, please -- "

"Stand up." Eric's voice was hoarse. "You need to be standing for this."

"Can't," Michael whispered. "I'll fall. Please, just let me come."

He heard a faint whimper. He thought it was Terry's.

"You won't fall, love," Eric said gently. "We'll all hold you."

They helped him up, until he was standing on trembling legs and without any warning at all, a warm, slippery finger was pushing into him from behind, opening, stretching him.

He gasped. Eric had fucked him before, two or three times, when things had got a bit out of control, when they hadn't been able to stop themselves, when the teasing and laughter and playfulness had shaded over into pure hunger. Usually it didn't go that far. The times when it had were amongst the most searingly erotic memories of Michael's life.

With Terry, it had been much more than two or three times, but that had been so long ago it seemed almost like a dream.

"Yes," he choked out. "Please -- "

A mouth clamped down over his, silencing his words. A hand on each side of his head held him still. Someone else's hand found his aching erection again. The finger left him, and then someone's cock was pressing into him.

He shuddered, writhing, groaning deep in his throat because he couldn't cry aloud, not with that relentless mouth plundering his. The hard thrusts from behind pushed him forward, closer to the two in front, bracing him against them, and Eric was right, he didn't fall, but that was thanks to their strength, not his. His was gone. His legs felt as weak as a baby's, but he didn't think about that, or about anything else. There was only the mouth, hot and greedy, and the hand sliding over him, so tight, so perfect, and oh God, the cock driving into him, pounding him into an orgasm that seemed to come from everywhere, pulling him under in a tide of helpless ecstasy.

He collapsed forward as the sensation began to fade, and they held him whilst the one behind him pressed on toward his own release, which came with a groan and a final thrust and a breathless voice crying his name. And it was Terry's voice.

Michael leaned his head against someone's shoulder and panted weakly. He felt Terry's breath sighing with regret as he withdrew, but the warm arms didn't let go. Neither did Eric's or Neil's. He felt quite thoroughly loved.

When he could speak he said, "That was Terry behind, Eric kissing, Neil below." He lifted his head and smiled serenely. "Who's next?"

There was a moment's silence. Then Neil said, "Aren't you -- I mean, are you quite all right?"

"No, he's not all right," Terry's shaky voice replied. Michael felt Terry's lips press gently to the back of his neck. "He's tired and sore and he needs to sleep -- "

"Terry," Mike interrupted, "I'm _fine_. I'm better than fine. I'm perfect. This is the most incredible night of my life. I don't give a damn how tired and sore I am, I _love_ it."

"Good," Eric said in a whisper. Michael felt lips brush his ear, and then Terry's arms slowly releasing him, to be replaced by another pair of hands that rubbed his back gently, affectionately.

"That's nice," Michael said. "On the bed would be even better." He _was_ tired, to tell the truth.

Eric laughed softly. "Whatever you like," he said, and guided him to the bed, where he stretched out comfortably on his stomach. Eric settled over him, a warm, familiar weight pressing him down, down into the mattress. Michael sighed. Such lovely powerlessness. He would have to ask Eric for it more often.

"I'll untie your hands if -- " Eric began, but Mike shook his head firmly.

"No," he said. "Don't."

"All right," Eric said, and Mike felt a soft puff of laughter against his back. "It's 'cos you know just how fucking gorgeous you look like that, innit?" Eric's voice dropped to a murmur, and his lips nibbled gently at Michael's neck. "You want to drive me mad, don't you?"

Michael smiled and arched his neck. "I just want you to fuck me," he said. "Before my next birthday, preferably."

"Ah." He felt Eric's hands on his arse, exploring carefully as though mapping it for future study. "In a rush, are we?"

"Yes." Michael sighed with pleasure. "Are they watching us?"

"Neil is." Eric paused. "Don't see Terry. Perhaps he went to the loo."

Perhaps he couldn't bear to see, Michael thought, but the thought was unpleasant and he was in no mood for unpleasantness. "Come on, then," he said. "Now."

God, it was good. He didn't have to do anything, anything at all. As Eric had said earlier, it was a gift. He simply lay there, smiling blissfully, moaning in appreciation, whilst Eric did all the work. He didn't even have to worry about coming. He'd already done that; he didn't need to do it again. He was open, slick, well stretched from Terry's attentions; no warming up process necessary. Just Eric, sliding into him so sweetly, Eric's voice whispering things in his ear that made him literally giggle with delight, and the waves and waves of indescribable pleasure as his prostate was stroked and stroked and stroked. Jesus, it was heaven.

He knew he was stoned. Every nerve in his body sang with it. It came to him, in a flash of perfect, sparkling clarity, that this was why dope was illegal. This was why there were so many rules and regulations surrounding sex. If it wasn't controlled, forbidden, demonised, the world would come to a standstill. No one would do anything except get high and fornicate, all day and all night. What else could compete with that? It made such perfect sense. His mouth fell open as he pondered it, stunned by the sudden insight, whilst Eric climaxed with a grateful moan and collapsed, breathless, on top of him.

Michael sighed a long, contented sigh, stretching as best he could under Eric's weight, and turned his head awkwardly on the pillow, facing towards where he imagined Neil was standing. He smiled and said, "You'll have to go some to beat that, Neil."

He blinked in surprise at the sound of his own voice. It reminded him of the satisfied purr of a large, sleepy cat.

There was a moment's silence, broken only by the sound of Eric's laboured breathing. Then Neil's voice spoke sheepishly. "I'm, er, not quite up to it, I'm afraid." He cleared his throat. "Bit too quick off the mark, I was."

Michael felt Eric lift his head, then laugh breathlessly. "Just watching Mike finished you off, did it, mate?"

"Not watching him," Neil said very quietly. "Watching you."

Michael tensed a bit, involuntarily, at that, but Eric didn't miss a beat. "Ah, well," he said with a casual air. "Can hardly blame you for that, can we?" Then he kissed Mike on the back of the neck, and rolled off him with a heavy sigh. "Fuck, I'm tired," he muttered.

"Not fair," Michael said, almost in a whisper. He felt unreasonable petulance building in him as easily as perfect bliss had done only minutes earlier. "Come on, Neil, can't you -- "

"No, I can't," Neil said. "I'm -- well, I'm only good for one go per night." He sounded horribly embarrassed, Michael realised, though this hardly placated him.

"You shouldn't have watched, then," he snapped. "You've _cheated_ me." He knew he was being ridiculous, but for God's sake, a fellow only had one birthday a year.

Next to him, he heard Eric laughing helplessly. "Bloody hell, Mike, leave him alone," he managed, between giggles. "How much do you need, anyway?"

"More than I've had, that's what," Michael shot back, but Eric only laughed harder, and this time Neil joined in.

"Oh, hell." Mike sighed, defeated. "One of you take these off me." He wriggled his bound hands.

"Poor Mike," Eric said, still shaking with mirth. "I'll do it, tiger. Hold still." In a moment, he'd removed the cords, and Michael impatiently pushed his blindfold off. The first thing he saw was Neil curling up contentedly on Eric's side of the bed. The next was a naked Terry emerging from the lavatory. He surveyed the scene, then quietly walked to the bed, switched off the bedside lamp, and lay down next to Michael. Mike smiled faintly at him and scooted over to make room, which put him almost on top of Eric, who slid to the left, crowding Neil, who didn't seem to mind.

"Now," Eric said, "we can all get some sleep." He paused. "That's assuming you can all resist molesting me before morning, of course."

" _I_ can," Terry said firmly. Michael laughed, good humour restored.

"Good," Eric said casually. Then he leaned closer to Michael and kissed him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, pet," he whispered. "Many more."

"Happy birthday, Mike," Neil echoed, laying his head boldly on Eric's shoulder.

Michael smiled affectionately at them. "Thank you," he said softly. "I've had a smashing time, really smashing."

He turned his head to speak to Terry, and was met by the gentlest, most loving kiss he'd had from anyone all night. He blinked in amazement, and then closed his eyes and lost himself in it. Terry finally drew back, and smiled crookedly at him.

"That's twenty-nine more I owe you," he said in a whisper. "I'm not counting the others I've given you tonight. I'm starting over."

"Tel," Michael murmured, "it's meant to be a spank for each year, not a kiss. You're confused."

Unruffled, Terry smiled. "Ah, so it is. Thank you for the correction. And I'd be delighted to accommodate you. You deserve it."

 

*****

 

Terry watched them fall asleep. When he was certain they were all out, he reached carefully up and turned on the lamp again. The light wouldn't wake Eric or Neil; they were lying with their backs to it, Eric curled lazily against Neil's body, Neil snoring softly, a look of perfect contentment on his face. It wouldn't wake Michael either. Nothing woke Michael after sex, not for hours on end. Terry remembered that well.

He studied Mike's face in the lamplight. It hadn't been that long since he'd seen Michael sleep. They'd shared dressing rooms, kipped on each other's couches after late-night writing sessions, slipped into exhausted oblivion on aeroplanes and after the occasional night out drinking. They'd even taken a sightseeing tour across America the year before, just the two of them, companionably alone, sharing hotel rooms to keep expenses down. They hadn't shared beds, of course. Terry hadn't been able to think up a plausible enough excuse for that.

But it had been a long, long time since he'd seen Michael asleep in the aftermath of orgasm. Since he'd seen the expression of blissful satiation on his features, the lips curved in a beatific smile, the cheeks still flushed from happy exertion, the tousled hair straggling messily over the forehead damp with sweat. Hair that was so much longer now. Like his own; like most of the rest of the world's, it seemed. One of the many things that had changed so much since their university days. He tucked a stray lock behind Michael's ear, and smiled. The length had changed, but not the texture. It was still as soft as a cloud. He let his fingers play in it idly.

He'd missed touching Michael's hair. He'd missed touching Michael. He'd missed lying close to him, feeling his chest rise and fall, hearing his soft breathing in the night. Sometimes he'd even missed that more than the sex. And he'd missed the sex desperately.

Michael had fallen out of love with him. It was that simple, and that excruciating. It had taken him months to admit it, of course; even, Terry was sure, to himself. Michael was the sort of person who would willingly make himself wretched if it meant sparing pain for someone he cared about. Terry had had to pry the truth out of him at last, and even then he'd apologised miserably every inch of the way. As if he had anything to apologise for, Terry thought. Michael couldn't help how he felt. Or didn't feel, anymore. It had been the most agonising conversation of Terry's life. For weeks afterward Mike was barely able to look him in the eye, but gradually the soreness wore off, and to Terry's vast relief, they remained close friends and writing partners. Michael never again alluded to the fact that they had once been far more. Neither did Terry. Talking about it, he knew, would only resurrect Michael's unwarranted guilt feelings, not to mention Terry's pathetic longing, which was always there anyway, under the surface. He had no wish to deal with either.

He knew why Michael had taken up with Eric recently. Eric wasn't in love with him. Eric didn't stir up uncomfortable memories. Eric offered him sex, laughs, friendship, good times. Eric made no demands, not even unconsciously. Sleeping with Eric meant freedom. Terry didn't know whether Michael consciously realised all this. Perhaps he didn't even let himself think about it.

He sighed, switched off the lamp, and settled back down on the pillow. When Eric had proposed this whole idea to him and Neil a few days ago, he'd thought it was insane, and he'd said so. He hadn't wanted to see Eric or Neil touching Michael; his stomach had twisted with jealousy at the thought of it. But the temptation of giving Michael pleasure -- simple, uncomplicated pleasure for his birthday -- had been too alluring to resist. Part of it was selfish, of course. He'd briefly got back something he'd yearned for for years. But it was unselfish, too. It was love.

He only hoped Michael wouldn't regret going along with it in the morning.

His eyes opened worriedly at the thought. What if Mike did regret it? Perhaps he should get up now and go back to his own room. That way Michael wouldn't have to face him when he woke up. He wouldn't have to see Michael's eyes glance away from him in embarrassment. They could pretend it hadn't happened, if that was what Michael wanted. And, he thought despondently, it probably would be.

He swallowed and peeled the covers back, started to swing his legs over the side of the bed. But beside him, Michael stirred, rolled over, and threw an arm across him, pressing closer to him, seeking warmth. He was asleep, but he mumbled a protest under his breath and held Terry down as he tried to rise.

Terry stopped moving. For a moment he was still, uncertain. Then he reached down and pulled the blankets back up. That was something else he remembered from the old days. Michael had a grip like an octopus. If he didn't want you to leave, you didn't leave.

"All right," he whispered, very softly, and smiled. His breath stirred the hair around Michael's ear as he spoke. "I'll stay."

He didn't think Michael heard him, but it didn't matter. He sighed and closed his eyes. He was tired, and Michael was wonderfully warm.

When he slept, he dreamed of Oxford.


End file.
